Care About Someone
by Believe4Ever
Summary: "Do you even understand the point of this, James?" "You want revenge." "Yes, but it's more than that. I want you to feel what I felt when you killed the person I held dearest to me." He clicked off the safety, staring solemnly at Jim. *MORMOR. Post-Reich*


**Okay so this story is based off of a post-Reichenbach role play which I did with I-Am-Jim-Locked and Averysillybird guest starred. So thank you, you two! I really liked the storyline so I decided to create this story to share with the rest of the website. I hope you will enjoy reading and will leave a review to let me know how you enjoyed it—or hated it. Enjoy!**

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Sebastian Moran stumbled into the darkened room, rolling his head on his shoulders. His skeleton gave soft pops as he felt some of the stiffened pain alleviate. He was already dead tired with Jim getting him up at three in the morning simply because he had been bored. Now, nineteen exhausting hours later, he was ready to drop. Sniping people all over London and having to tuck-and-roll out of a cab when he discovered he was sharing the ride with a police officer was very strenuous on the body.

"Jim?" he called, throwing his duffel bag containing his disassembled sniper onto the kitchen table. He got a glass and poured himself some water from the sink. "Are you home yet?"

Jim was sitting in his chair in the living room, eyes closed, and earphones in. he hummed quietly and swayed his head slightly to the melody that was blasting through his ears. Music only helped sometimes. It would entertain him to a certain extent, but not nearly as much as a calculated murder would. Still, he was now completely tuned out from the rest of the world, happily dancing around his mind. He didn't hear Sebastian's voice.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, the sniper was a touch worried when his employer didn't answer him. He swallowed some aspirin along with the rest of the water and walked to the living area, where he discovered his employer in the chair. He smirked and shook his head. Never could he understand Jim, no matter how hard he tried.

Instead of trying to disturb the psychopath, he just stretched out on the couch in front of Jim.

Jim sensed the change in atmospheres, like someone had just walked into the room, and he opened one eye. He watched his sniper on the sofa, studying him carefully and taking in all of his cuts and bruises and scuff marks.

"Again?" Moriarty muttered as he paused the song and took out his earphones.

"What do you mean, 'again'?" Sebastian answered, trying to suppress a yawn. He knew that Jim hated signs of weakness; tiredness included.

But Jim of course noticed the near yawn and scowled. "Again. You've jumped out of a moving vehicle _again!_" His voice rose only slightly. He wasn't really angry; he was just bored! Bored and in need of something productive to do.

"Would you rather I had risked the inspector discovering who I am? I'm not squeaky clean in my record as you are, 'Richard Brook'." He settled in the cushions and his eyes slid shut though he still kept his ears alert.

Jim grabbed the knife that lay abandoned on the coffee table. For a moment he just twirled it in his hands, studying the reflecting light as the blade spun. However a moment later, out of frustration, or maybe boredom, he hurled it at the wall above the sofa. The blade sailed over Sebastian's head and sunk deep into the wall. The handle was the only thing visible out of the plaster.

Moran opened one eye lazily and sighed, sitting up and stretching. "All right. Fine. Where do you want to go if you're so bored?"

Jim leaned back against his chair and shrugged. Of course he didn't know what he wanted to do, or where he wanted to go. All he knew was that he was bored and he didn't want to be!

"Now how am I supposed to cure your stubborn boredom if you give now suggestion?" Sebastian crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

"Surprise me!" the psychopath answered bitterly.

"Fine." Moran walked over, arms still crossed, and nodded his head toward the door. "Get up and we'll go."

Moriarty sighed and rose from his seat, mirroring Sebastian's body language. "Let's go, then." He glared slightly before pushing past and grabbing his coat.

Sebastian rolled his eyes and headed out the door. He waved down a cab and waited for his employer. Jim walked up beside him and picked out a piece of chewing gum he kept in his pocket. He popped it into his mouth and got into the cab when it pulled up.

The sniper slipped in beside his employer and gave the driver the address. As the cabbie was pulling back into traffic, Sebastian looked over at Jim. "What the hell did you even do all day?"

Jim blew a small bubble with the gum before answering, "Being bored." He stared out the window, watching the streets of London go by and thinking of all the different places they could be going to. He had blocked out the address so as to not guess where they were going.

"You never change."

The cabbie glanced at the two of them in the rearview mirror, causing Moriarty to glare at him. "What?!"

The driver looked away immediately and gulped at his vicious tone. "You just look familiar, is all . . ."

Jim glared for just a little while longer before going back to looking out of the window and blowing more bubbles.

It was a couple minutes later that the cab pulled up onto the curb in front of a shady restaurant. They got out and Sebastian paid the driver while Jim studied the building. It seemed familiar. Run down, definitely, with its graffitied walls and windows fixed by duct tape. The door was closed and the soft sound of shouting and bass from music could be heard inside. The broken neon sign that hung above the doorway read 'Wayward Bar'.

Moriarty didn't feel his boredom clear at all. "Seriously? A restaurant? What's so exciting about this place?"

"You mean you don't recall?" Sebastian grinned as he walked up to the front door. "This is the spot where you picked me up." He walked in.

Jim followed quickly, realization on his face. That's why the restaurant was so familiar. "Why bring me here, then?"

"I don't know. Old time's sake?" They entered and were suddenly met with the deafening cacophony of arguments, fighting, glass breaking, and low droned music. Men were wrestling and beating on each other and shouting insults all around the restaurant. Only a couple tables were occupied with people actually trying to eat, and the bar was swamped with drunken men. "Or the fact that it isn't boring!" he added with a raised voice over the noise.

Moriarty's face lit up, grinning from ear to ear when he saw the violence. Granted, it wasn't very strategic or planned out like he was used to; it was simply just a load of idiots attempting to seriously injure each other. But that was what made it beautiful in Jim's eyes.

Sebastian chose a booth near the back so no one could get them from behind. Jim always had enemies and in a place like this, it was very easy to make a murder look like an accident. The psychopath followed his sniper to the booth at the back, dodging fists and glass bottles.

Jim chuckled slightly as he sat down. "Definitely not boring."

Moran smiled. "I'm glad that you're pleased Jim." He glanced around at the fighting and the couple of people he recognized, giving a soft smile. "I haven't been here in ages . . ."

"Oh?" Jim raised an eyebrow. "And why's that?" He seemed genuinely interested, which was such a rare thing for him.

"You know. Havin' me going around killing people eat s up a lot of time." He laughed and waved down a waitress who wore a skimpy maid-type outfit.

Jim just smirked and ignored the waitress. "You have to admit, it is fun."

A sly grin appeared on Sebastian's face. "It is amusing." He glanced at the waitress and informed here, "Beer."

Jim turned and watched the idiots fighting, smiling when one of them got knocked out. One man got hefted up and thrown across the room, straight at Jim. Sebastian stood quick as lighting, catching the man in midair and shoving him aside. Jim simply laughed as he looked at his employee. "Thank you."

"I can't have bar filth rolling onto you, now can I?"

Jim gave a grin. "No. No, you cannot."

The waitress brought out the beer and set it on the table. "What can I get you two sweeties?" Her voice was bubbly in a false cutsie tone.

Jim just ignored her once more, finding her far too boring for his attention, and continued to watch the fighting. Sebastian shook his head and looked up at her. "It seems he's not hungry. I'll take a steak. Rare." The waitress nodded and left after a quick glance to Jim. "She's only doing her job, you know."

"Hm? Yeah . . . cool." Moriarty wasn't really paying attention to anything that Sebastian had to say. It was like that often. One moment he could be absorbed in every word his sniper was offering and the next he couldn't care less about what he had to say.

It was several minutes later that the waitress brought out the bloody steak. Sebastian grinned and licked his lips as he began cutting up the meat. He stabbed one square and stuck it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he watched his charge. Finally, he swallowed and stated, "I don't understand you, Jimmy."

Jim gave a sigh. "No one does." He glanced at Sebastian as he ate, which caused him to feel a little peckish.

Sebastian's fork stopped just before it hit his lips when he caught Moriarty staring. He gave a miniscule sigh and pointed the fork, along with the piece of steak on the end, toward Jim. "Eat."

Jim glanced at the piece of steak, to Sebastian, then back again. He spat out his gum in the direction of another table before taking the fork and sticking it in his mouth. A small smile crept onto Moran's lips but whether it was from Jim accepting the food or the gum getting caught in another man's hair was unclear.

Moriarty handed the fork back, still chewing on the food, and looked over to where his gum had landed. The corners of his lips twitched into a small smile when he saw it caught in the man's hair.

The sniper sat back and cut up more of the steak. "Have you planned anymore schemes?"

The employer shrugged and picked at the splintering edges of the table. "Not really."

"Well, no wonder you're bored." He took a swig of his beer and set it down.

"It's a vicious cycle." Jim pulled out his pocket knife and began to carve various words or symbols into the tabletop. "I get bored. I can't think when I'm bored. Therefore, no schemes. No schemes cause me to get bored . . ."

"And then you rely on me to cure your boredom." Sebastian sighed and shook his head. He held up the empty beer bottle as a signal to the waitress that he needed a new one.

"Yes, and you're not doing a very good job!"

Moran pursed his lips. As the waitress arrived he smashed the base of the empty bottle against the table, startling her. She gave a yelp and backed away a little and Jim smiled a touch at that. However that wasn't the reason why Sebastian hit the bottle. There was now a dangerous jagged edge and the neck of the bottle was like a handle. He set it in front of Jim.

Moriarty glanced at the broken bottle. Putting away his pocket knife and leaving his carving abandoned, he picked it up, studying the jagged edges. His face broke into a grin as he stood up and joined the fight nearer to the front of the room.

"I'll need a couple more," Sebastian informed the waitress as he took the bottle from her. He called after Jim, "Don't kill anyone like you did at Barbie's! I don't want to be sued again!"

"You're boring!" he called back, dodging a beer bottle that was thrown at his head. Sebastian just smiled, shook his head, and continued to eat. Jim just continued to fight; punching, kicking, and throwing glass at the other men.

Approximately three beers later Sebastian checked the time. He stood up, having long paid his bill. "Time to go, Jimmy."

Moriarty glanced away from the man he was fighting when he heard his nickname being called, looking to Sebastian with an amused grin.

Bad move.

Just as he turned, Jim felt a searing pain on the top of his head as his opponent smashed a beer bottle over his skull. He grabbed the nearest table for support as the world in front of him blurred and swayed. He felt the man hit him again and again. The man even kicked him from behind, which sent Moriarty crashing onto the floor, the scattered glass cutting his cheek and forearm.

Sebastian was barreling through the crowd of fighting men the instant he saw Jim get hurt. The only thought that was pounding in his head was, _I let him get hurt. He got hurt while I was here._

The sniper reached the man just as he was about to step on Jim's head to grind the glass in more. He picked him up and threw the man against a table, which rudely interrupted a couple's meal but Sebastian didn't care.

"We're leaving, Jim."

Every nerve in his body was buzzing with adrenaline. He needed to get Jim home, or to a hospital to get his wound cleaned out. He lifted Jim up to his feet and slid the smaller man's arm around his neck, helping him out of the restaurant. He waved down a cab as he checked over Jim's injuries. His skull was bloody and there were two cuts on his cheek, and a long one on his arm, but it wasn't anything lethal.

Jim blinked, trying to bring the world back into focus. He was swaying slightly, disoriented and feeling sick. He felt blood from his head trickle down his neck. "I'm fine . . ." he grumbled, trying to push Sebastian away. He never liked it when someone made a fuss over his injuries, no matter how serious they were.

"No, you're not." They got into the cab and he told the driver the address to go back home.

The cabbie glanced in the mirror, noticing Jim's injuries. "Are you sure you two wouldn't rather go to a hospital?"

"Mind your own business!" Jim snapped to the cabbie as he continued to protest. "I'm fine. It's nothing serious." He swayed a little again, feeling faint.

"Just relax," Sebastian soothed. They were back at the flat in minutes and Sebastian helped Jim toward the door. "Not much further, Jimmy."

"Get off . . ." Moriarty protested weakly. "I can walk on my own . . ." He sighed and then gave up, letting his sniper help him, no matter how much he hated it.

Relieved that he had stopped protesting, Moran helped Jim onto the couch and went to get the first aid kit. Jim's head ached as he sat down. The world was still blurred and it was hurting his eyes. He closed them and pinched the bridge of his nose, which helped slightly, but not by much.

Sebastian came back with the kit and began picking out the glass and trying to mop up the blood. "Tell me if it hurts too much."

Jim winced slightly when his employee started to remove the glass, but it was barely noticeable. He clenched his jaw against the pain.

"You should be more careful. What if he was a bigger guy and I couldn't stop the fight right away?"

"Being careful is boring!"

"Is that what you thought up on St. Bart's roof? What if you had done that incorrectly?"

Jim chuckled slightly. "Then I would've died."

"And where would that leave me?"

He shrugged. "Looking for new employment."

"You need to stop gambling your life!"

"And why should I do that?" Moriarty really did not like being told what to do.

"Because I don't feel like preparing a funeral for you." Sebastian began sterilizing the wound, which resulted in a lot of pain. Jim tensed and almost cried out but he bit down on his lip and fought to remain still. Sebastian finally finished by wrapping the wound in a bandage. "There. All done."

"Good!" Jim's tone was obviously angry.

"If you would've been careful, we wouldn't have had to go through this!"

"If you had never taken me then I wouldn't have joined the fight.

He sighed. "It's past midnight. Get some rest."

"I'm not tired."

"Fine. Stay up fiddling with your bloody phone. I'm going to bed." Sebastian grumbled under his breath as he headed to the bedroom.

"Goodnight," Jim mumbled, not really caring.

The night was silent save for the occasional honking car or siren in the distance. Jim had stayed up for just another hour before finally falling asleep in his chair at roughly one in the morning, snoring slightly. It wasn't until about four in the morning that Sebastian got up and stretched. Something had woken him up, though he didn't know what. He checked on Jim, hoping that he did indeed get some sleep. Seeing that he was asleep, the sniper gave a small smile and went to the kitchen. He poured some vodka into his orange juice.

About ten minutes later, Jim opened his eyes and yawned, stretching as he slowly sat up.

"Finally awake, I see?" Sebastian handed Jim the beverage he had prepared before and went back into the kitchen to make himself a similar one.

"Hmm." Jim took the drink and sipped it. He was still very tired, but he didn't want to sleep anymore.

"I don't understand how you don't just drop from exhaustion," Sebastian sighed in the kitchen.

There was a sudden knock at the door and Moran stopped pouring the drink. Jim quickly glanced to the door, suddenly on high alert. Who could it be? Why were they here? What did they want?

Sebastian took out his handgun and cautiously went to the door. He began to open it, prepared to shoot whoever was there. However as soon as he twisted the handle the person on the other side kicked the door open. Sebastian fell back in surprise. A figure stepped inside and gave Sebastian a solid kick to the jaw, snapping his head back and knocking him out instantly. Moran's body slumped to the floor.

Moriarty jumped up instantly and pulled a handgun of his own out of his jacket pocket, glaring and pointing it at the intruder. He glanced down at Sebastian, a stab of concern flashing through him before he turned his attention back to the intruder. "Well, that was quite a show," he muttered sarcastically. "What do you want?"

Now that the fiasco was over with, Moriarty found that the person was actually a woman wearing dark sunglasses and had wavy black hair. She lifted Sebastian and held him in front of her like a human shield in case he was trigger happy. "I have simply brought a message, James."

He kept the gun poised on her with no real intent to shoot—not when he had a risk of shooting his employee. His eyebrow raised a touch at the name. No one called him James anymore. Only Jim or Moriarty, and Sebastian sometimes called him Jimmy. "And in order to deliver that message you have to knock out my sniper?" he growled, voice full of loathing.

"I'd rather not be shot. You know how it is, James."

"Well, what is it, then?"

"Wesley sends his love."

Jim scowled. Wesley. He remembered that man. He was his worst enemy, with the exception of Sherlock. He hadn't been particularly cunning, but he was violent and not hesitant to kill someone on his own team. It was hard to get to him, just like how it was hard to get to Jim. But Sebastian had killed him at their last confrontation.

"He's dead."

She laughed. "Many people think you're dead. You even think Sherlock Holmes is dead."

Jim paused for a moment. He _thinks _Sherlock Holmes is dead? "Was that your message? If you have nothing else to tell me, then please leave."

"Wesley sends his love . . . and he has a game planned for you." She smirked and shoved Sebastian forward, who hit the ground with a low thud. She slipped out the door and was gone.

Jim's first thoughts were, _A game? Yes, finally! Something interesting!_

He walked over and closed the door behind her, locking it, and then rushed over to Sebastian, shaking him. "Wake up!"

Moran gave a moan and sat up, coughing up a bit of blood into his hands from the kick. "What . . .?"

Moriarty jumped up and walked over to the sofa. He stood on it, grinning madly. "Things are about to get interesting!" He laughed and jumped back down. He sat in his hair, foot tapping excitedly.

"What are you talking about?" He was shaky getting back to his feet.

"Wesley and Sherly!"

Sebastian's lips pursed sourly. "But . . . they're dead. Both of them."

Jim chuckled. "Apparently not."

"I saw Sherlock jump and I shot Wesley myself!"

"Just because he jumped doesn't mean that he died. These two men are very good at deceiving people, you know that."

"Sherlock, fine. But I checked Wesley. No pulse. Explain that."

Moriarty sighed. "There are a couple of explanations. He could have used the ball technique, but that doesn't apply if you checked his pulse through his neck. He could have taken a drug, one that stops his heart, and then someone would've needed to resuscitate him."

"I checked both." Moran sighed. "Alright. Let's assume they both are alive. What do you want to do about it?"

Jim shrugged. "I'll wait for them to make the first move."

"I thought you were eager to start something?"

"I never said 'start'." He chuckled.

"You were just being obnoxious?"

"You could say that." Jim gave a smirk.

"What about Sherlock? He won't be making a move. He probably doesn't know you're alive. You can mess with him."

"Yes. Yes I can!" He grinned. "I'll need to be careful though. I don't want him to find out that I'm still here . . . not yet anyway."

"Then what did you want to do? I had heard that his flatmate was out of town."

"Ah, that's the perfect opportunity! I have an idea, but I need to polish it off a bit first."

"Polish it off?"

"Yes. Make it perfect. As I said, it's only an idea."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Mind sharing?"

"Nope." Jim plugged his earphones in, closed his eyes, and leaned back in his chair.

Moran rolled his eyes. "Of course not."

Jim's head swayed slightly to the tune. He didn't hear Sebastian's comment, for the music was blasting into his ears on full volume. Sebastian shook his head and went back to finish making his drink, leaving his employer to himself. When he finished, the sniper walked back over. He tossed Jim the phone that he had left on the table, knowing his employer didn't like to be separated from his device.

Jim caught the phone without looking, turning the device over in his hands. His dark eyes opened and he looked at the blank screen, grinning. He knew _exactly _what he wanted to do.

"I see you've polished it," Sebastian said as he noted Moriarty's expression. He gulped down half of the drink.

Jim ignored him, the music still blasting into his eardrums as he turned on his phone. Sebastian rolled his eyes at his employer's ignorance and wondered for the hundredth time why he put up with Jim as he finished he drink. Moriarty scrolled down the list of contacts until he found the one he was looking for, entitled 'Sherlylocks'. Chances were the detective would want to keep his original phone number, as remembering a new one was tedious. Jim smiled and sent a message.

Across London in 221B Baker Street, Sherlock was playing his violin when he heard his phone buzz. "John," he muttered, thinking it was simply his flatmate reminding him to eat dinner that night. He returned to the piece he was playing.

When he finished the movement, he sighed dramatically and walked across the room. He missed having John around to bring him his phone. No, it wasn't that, he just missed John in general. The soldier had never truly forgiven him for his fake suicide, no matter how many reasons Sherlock gave. And of course there was the fact that John had gotten _married _during the three years he had been absent. Sherlock reminded himself that he still had to clear his name with the rest of the world. He had more than enough proof to show that he wasn't a fraud and that Moriarty wasn't simply Richard Brook.

The detective picked up his phone. To his surprise, it was not his flatmate that had texted him, but rather an unknown number. He raised one of his eyebrows and decided this latest mystery would be better with a bit of tea. He walked into the kitchen and started boiling the water, opening the message.

On the tiny screen read the text: _The fall. You survived, then? Or was it all a delusion?_

Sherlock poured the boiled water into a tea cup as he debated how to respond. Odds were that this was one of his many enemies, or perhaps an obsessed fan. _Truth is always a delusion. –SH _he wrote and sent.

"I never did like him," Sherlock muttered, referring to Friedrich Durrenmatt, who had spoken the quote. "He was cynical enough but not in a way I could ever connect to." He felt a little smug about his choice of quote, though.

Jim's phone pinged as he received his reply. Smirking, he responded almost instantly with _Ah, the great Durrenmatt! I was never really fond of his works._

"You having fun?" Sebastian mumbled from the couch, although he didn't really expect a response.

Much to his surprise, Jim glanced up and grinned. "Of course."

Back at 221B, Sherlock read over the text. _Neither did I, but I have a feeling you did not text me in order to have a conversation about past Swiss authors. _

He felt very sure that this was not a fan texting him. A fan would've approved completely over his choice of quotes rather than put in their own opinion. He glanced at the fridge, realizing he had not eaten all day, and thought about how John would want him to eat something. A cracker, even. He opened the door, gazed amongst the shelves and found absolutely nothing of interest. He shut the door in disgust and settled for an apple that sat in the fruit bowl on the counter. He took a bit of the apple and carried his tea back to the couch.

_Of course, _Moriarty responded. He continued listening to his music, and finding the current one very boring, he skipped to the next.

Sherlock hummed monotonously to himself as he replied, _What is the direction you would like this conversation to take? –SH_

Sherlock noticed the room was growing brighter and he looked out the window. The sun was just beginning to rise, and even Sherlock had to admit that it was a particularly beautiful sunrise. Suddenly he began to feel strangely sentimental and contemplated texting John.

Jim also glanced out of the window, noticing the red sky. It looked like it was on fire! Oh, how he loved fire! Such a beautifully destructive thing. _Beautiful sunrise, isn't it? It almost looks like the sky is burning! _He chuckled slightly at his own text before sending it.

When the next text came, Sherlock suddenly realized who it was that he was texting and a chill ran down his spine. "No, it can't be," he murmured, his emotions simply a mix of awe, curiosity, and even a touch of fear. Any hint of boredom had left his mind and he was filled with adrenaline now.

_I thought I would hear from you again. It would seem neither of us can stay dead. –SH_

Sherlock's mind wandered back to John, a hint of concern entered his mix of emotions. He was alright with putting his own life in danger, but would he be risking John's life as well if he met with Moriarty again?

Jim grinned as he received the text. _Ah, sharp as ever then Sherly? I see that you haven't lost it yet. –J. Moriarty_

He was enjoying this. Who knew he would be so . . . happy, was that the right word? . . . to be talking to his enemy.

Sebastian glanced over at Jim, hiding his bitterness. He was used to being ignored by his employer but it had always bugged him when Sherlock occupied his time instead. If there was one person that never bored Jim it was that bloody detective.

"Jealous, Sebby?" Moriarty asked without even looking at his employee. He knew how much Sebastian hated it when Jim talked to Sherlock. It had been quite apparent during the Five Pips episode, as he enjoyed calling it. In fact, Sebastian's jealously was one of the reasons why he continued to play these games with the consulting detective; he liked to see Moran jealous. But he never understood why.

"Not at all," the sniper answered grudgingly.

_The question is, have you? –SH_

Sherlock contemplated asking Moriarty to meet him somewhere, so they could . . . catch up over a cup of tea? What a strange idea that was. Sherlock couldn't help but laugh out loud over the idea. This man had tried to kill him and the most important people in his life. Why wasn't he angrier? This man had ripped his world apart. Perhaps he was awed that Moriarty had been able to make him feel those emotions so intensely. Sherlock continued to ponder this idea as he sent the text.

Moriarty chuckled at Sebastian when his phone pinged, receiving another message. "Oh, I think you are." He smirked and opened the message, replying, _Oh, of course I haven't. –J. Moriarty_

_I am sure our paths will cross again soon, then. –SH_

The detective decided to proceed with caution. Deep down he also had to admit to himself that he would very much like to hear John's opinion, even if he ended up deciding to ignore it like he usually did.

_Oh, I know they will. –J. Moriarty_

The last text sent another shiver down Sherlock's spine, but this shiver was, if anything, anticipation. Clearly Moriarty was planning something and Sherlock was excited to know what, despite the dangers that loomed along with it. _I will be waiting in anticipation at my flat. –SH_

With that, Sherlock tossed his phone onto the table and took out his violin again. now the waiting game began.

Jim looked down at the last text and grinned, jamming his phone into his pocket. He jumped up, practically vibrating with excitement. "Sebastian! We have work to do!" He beamed.

"Of course we do. Well it's better than you being bored." He went to the kitchen and put the glass in the sink. He grabbed the duffel bag with the sniper. "Be careful with your head!"

"My head is fine," the psychopath muttered as he went and grabbed his notebook, filled with plans—and some doodles he made when he was bored—as well as a pen.

"Fine. Do you want to walk or take a cab?"

"I'll walk." He opened the notebook and skimmed through a couple pages.

Sebastian walked beside him as they left the flat. "I take it he was surprised?"

"Obviously."

"Yet he still wants to meet up, after everything that had happened between the two of you. Shall I set up across the street for a clear shot?"

Jim looked up at Sebastian with one eyebrow raised. "I think you already know the obvious answer to that."

The sniper smiled. "What's the trigger sign today?"

"See if you can guess," Jim chuckled.

"You change it so often I have no idea! The pen twirl again?"

Moriarty grinned and twirled the pen for demonstration. "That's what it's there for." He paused before continuing, "Oh, and if you shoot, don't shoot him. Shoot at him, but don't actually hit him . . . unless it's not a fatal shot."

"And if he goes at you with the intent to kill?"

He shrugged. "Then kill him. But I highly doubt that he would."

Moran nodded. He took his employer's notebook for safekeeping and they split paths. He crossed the street and headed to the building to set up.

Sherlock, meanwhile, was pacing in his flat idly. He staring at his feet with his fingers interlaced and his thumbs against his mouth. Sherlock had engaged himself in his mind palace, originally to sort out a case he was working on. However very soon after he had quickly come up with a solution for that. He filed it away in his brain and instead begun pondering just how Moriarty had survived. He had seen the wound, the blood, with his own eyes. What had he missed?

Jim approached the front door of 221B. He tried the door and found that it was locked. Of course. He smiled to himself as he picked the lock fairly easily. He crept inside silently.

Sherlock snapped himself out of his mind palace the moment he heard someone tampering with the lock on his front door. "Pity there wasn't enough time to make tea," he murmured. He moved to sit in his chair and then perched there, waiting for his nemesis.

Meanwhile Sebastian had set up in an old room of the abandoned flat across the street. He adjusted his position to make sure he had a clear shot of Sherlock. Yes, the head and shoulders. Lethal and warning, just as Jim had told him.

Moriarty walked up the stairs, listening to the creaking that the steps made under his weight. He gave a chilling grin at their noise. He entered the room and smirked down at the detective as he stood in the doorway. "Hello, Sherly."

Sherlock looked up, keeping his face and tone without any emotion and said, "Hello, Jim. It has been a while." For a fleeting second, Sherlock's thoughts drifted back to John. He felt a hint of guilt as he thought about what his friend's reaction to this meeting would be. Instead he pushed that thought away and instead focused on the fact that Moriarty was standing, alive, in his flat.

"Yes, it has, hasn't it?" Jim chuckled, pacing around the flat and fiddling with random objects. He traced his finger on the skull. Flicked the penknife. Turned the fruit bowl. Folded a random paper. He picked up a tiny wooden box Sherlock had lying on the table. "Three years." He glanced out of the window to the building opposite, where Sebastian was set up. He found the window one of the floors open slightly but no evidence that a sniper was set up.

Sherlock carefully watched Moriarty, noting each of the objects he picked up and what he did with them. Sherlock had learned it was best to assume Moriarty did nothing randomly. Everything had a purpose. "What have you been doing all this time?" Sherlock asked quietly, not taking his eyes off of Moriarty's hands.

"Meh." Jim shrugged, his voice raised to an irritably high pitch before dropping back down to his normal tone, "Been bored." He sighed as he threw the little box he was holding back onto the table.

"Does Lestrade know you're alive?" the detective asked carefully. Another one of the things he'd done when he was alive was to clear his name with Lestrade. It had been challenging at first but he came around. Lestrade had been overjoyed to see him from the beginning, though, and now Sherlock could only imagine what the detective inspector's reaction would be if he found out London's one and only consulting criminal was alive as well.

Jim laughed at the stupidity of the question. "I am, well, was, the most wanted man in London! Do you think I would inform the police that I am still here?"

Sherlock shrugged and said, "You do enjoy challenges. You were the most wanted man before and chose not to hide when you went on trial. Perhaps you'd choose that again. It would be more fun, after all."

The psychopath paused and then nodded in agreement, picking up a sheet of music and reading it. "Hm. That's true . . ."

Sherlock noted the bandage on Moriarty's head. "What happened?"

"None of your business," he growled. No, he was never going to tell Sherlock that he got the wound because he let his guard down at a bar. How humiliating.

"So now that you have, as you've said, 'burned the heart out of me,' what is your plan?" Sherlock asked coyly. There was also a slight hint of bitterness in his voice, but eagerness and fear as well. Whatever Moriarty was planning would have to be an even bigger show than the last, and Sherlock could only begin to imagine the possibilities.

"If I tell you, then it ruins the game."

The sociopath nodded slowly. "Of course." He slowly leaned over and picked up his violin, beginning to play it, as if making it clear to his adversary that their meeting was over.

Moriarty listened to Sherlock playing for a moment, swaying his head to the tune and grinning. He went to the table and set down the music sheet, as well as his pen, looking out the window again and giving a slight nod. It was his usual signal that the meeting was over. He turned and left, humming slightly, slamming the door to the flat closed behind him. He walked across the road to where he would meet Sebastian.

Except, Sebastian wasn't waiting for Jim like he normally was.

Jim gave a slight confused look. Sebastian was always there before him. He was efficient and fast. Still, he waited for a couple more minutes and yet there was still no sign of him. "Strange . . .?" he muttered, looking around for his employee.

After a couple more seconds he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts until he came to the one entitled 'Sebby'. He called the number.

The phone rang out with no answer.

Moriarty was growing increasingly worried now. Something must have gone wrong. Jim hung up and looked up at the building in front of him. He was not going to lose an employee again. Pushing the already unlocked door open, he decided to investigate.

"He doesn't take this long," Jim muttered to himself as he entered the building.

The flat was completely empty, and apparently had been for some time. There was dust caking the floor and Jim could make out fresh footprints that he figured could only be Sebastian's. However there was a lot of dust kicked up and not his usual careful signature. As he headed up the stairs, cockroaches scuttled from their darkness, crossing his path to move into other shadows.

Jim frowned as he continued to walk. "Seb?" he called. "Sebby!" There was still no reply. "Moran!" he called a little louder.

When he reached the second floor he went to the room that Sebastian was supposed to bet up in. The door creaked as he pushed it opened. He blinked a couple of times and tried to get his eyes to adjust to the gloomy space.

Moriarty found that the sniper had been tossed aside, the scope broken off and discarded a few feet away. The air had the distinct scent of gun powder like a gun had been fired a couple of times. The air was also dusty, since it would seem the dust on the floor had been kicked up. There was a smear of blood on the windowsill as well as a couple small puddles in other areas of the floor. There was a piece of paper pinned to the wall above Sebastian's handgun that lay forgotten on the floor.

Jim's mind raced through different theories on what happened. He rushed over to the piece of paper, grabbed it and yanked it off the wall. He read it quickly.

_'Let the games begin, Mori. –Wesley_

"Wesley!" Jim spat. "How dare he!" He pocketed the note and Sebastian's handgun, packing away the rest of the sniper before storming out into the street. He took the duffel as well, not caring if it looked out of place for his person. "He will pay!" he hissed to himself as his rage built. He struggled to avoid shooting the next boring person he saw.

People seemed to sense his hostility and stayed out of his way as they passed. Moriarty simply glared at anyone who met his eye, warning them to stay away. With the mood that he was in right now, he wouldn't be surprised if he just turned around and shot everyone in this damn street!

All of a sudden, Jim's phone went off, signaling someone was calling him. He grabbed the phone out of his pocket and answered, not bothering to check who was calling him. "What do you want!?" he snapped.

"Ooh, someone's angry," a calm, gravelly voice answered. Jim instantly recognized it as Wesley. He could never forget his voice. "Have you killed someone yet?"

"You!" he shouted. "How dare you!" His voice rose and he didn't care about the passersby who stared at him as he stormed past.

"Tsk, tsk, James! You know, when I found out where the man that attempted to kill me was, I thought about putting a bullet in his brain. Yes, that appealed to me very much . . . But then I thought what if our roles were reversed? What would James do? And I knew. You'd make it a game."

"So you decided to imitate me? I must say, that you're doing a terrible job of it!"

"I'm rather enjoying putting my own spin on your signature. And don't worry. I haven't killed your pet . . . yet."

"If you touch him, I swear that I will destroy you! I will make you pay!" Jim paused for a moment. Why was he so utterly upset? Surely _all _of this anger wasn't simply because Wesley had managed to pull one over on him? He was getting so worked up over someone like Sebastian?

"Ooh, protective. I honestly don't know why you're so eager to get him back, James. He's a rather damaged one. Nose broken a couple times, jaw had been dislocated, and scars. So many scars. Rather ugly, if I say so."

"Shut up, and just give him back to me!"

Wesley gave a low laugh. "If you're so bent on getting him back, come to the warehouse where we last faced. I'll be waiting." The line disconnected after that.

Jim stopped dead in his tracks. The warehouse where they last faced? That was on the other side of London! What if it was a trap? Knowing Wesley, it probably was. He was still for a minute, weighing his options . . .

"Oh, sod it!" he cried aloud and hailed the next cab he saw. He gave the address and impatiently waited.

It was another fifteen minutes until the cab finally pulled up in front of a shady warehouse set aside from everything else. There wouldn't be another person for a couple blocks. "Is this the correct address, sir?" the cabbie asked unsurely.

Jim recognized it instantly. "Yes." He got out of the cab and, not bothering to pay the cabbie, he rushed inside.

The warehouse was near pitch black as Jim stumbled through the door. "Wesley!" he called out angrily. There was no reply. "I know you're here!"

He suddenly felt the cold touch of a gun barrel against the back of his neck. "Remove all weaponry from your person," a dark feminine voice demanded.

Jim's instinct was to tense up, the cool metal of the gun sending shivers even down his spine. Even so, he forced his body to relax. He dropped Sebastian's duffel bag, containing the sniper, and slowly reached into his own jacket pocket and pulled out his hand gun. He absolutely hated being told what to do, but he didn't exactly fancy a bullet being shot into his neck.

She took his handgun and kept her own against his neck. "Walk forward."

He did as was told, holding his hands up as a sign of surrender. How humiliating.

Finally, through the gloom, Jim caught sight of Wesley. He was fairly tall with short black hair and glasses. His suit wasn't Westwood, but it still fit him just fine. Sebastian was at his feet, hand and feet bound together like an animal. There was also a weight attached so Moran couldn't get away.

"Jim," Sebastian breathed when he caught sight of his employer. There was a nasty wound on his forehead like someone had smashed his head against a wall. It must've been what the blood on the windowsill was from.

Jim's eyes widened when he saw his employee. "Seb . . ." He blinked in disbelief. He had never seen the sniper like this before. He was weak, and helpless, and it absolutely sickened him. He was filled with anger and he glared at Wesley, his eyes almost burning with rage. "Let. Him. Go."

Wesley clicked his tongue. "Not yet. Where's the fun? Now will someone turn on the lights?"

In response, the lights turned on, illuminating the room as well as the people inside. Sebastian was clearly seen, now, and Jim could see that he had bruises and cuts across his face like he had been punched or shoved against the ground. The back of his shirt was bloody as well.

Moriarty stared at the wounds on Sebastian, which only heightened his rage further. He felt as if he was about to explode. It took all of his self control to refrain from strangling Wesley where he stood. He wanted to hurt him! To destroy him!

"Now, James," Wesley continued. "You remember my partner, don't you? Toby?"

"Of course," Moriarty forced through gritted teeth, still focused on Sebastian. Toby had been Wesley's bodyguard much like Sebastian was Jim's. Except it was painfully obvious of Wesley's affection for Toby and how they were each others' weak spot.

"So you also remember how you shot him . . ." Wesley took out a gun and pressed it against the base of Sebastian's neck. "And made me watch."

Moriarty's eyes widened even more and he shook his head slightly. "No . . . Don't you dare. Don't you DARE!" His booming voice echoed in the vast warehouse.

"Now, why not? You killed my partner, made me watch, and then tried to kill me as well. That really hurts."

"Jimmy," Sebastian whispered hoarsely. "Please go. He will kill you too."

"No!" Jim protested. "I'm not leaving without you!" He turned his attention back to Wesley, glaring daggers at him. "If you pull that trigger, I swear, I will make your life a nightmare! I will cause so much pain that you will be begging me to kill you; to destroy you!"

"Do you even understand the point of this, James?"

"You want revenge."

"Yes, but it's more than that. I want you to feel what I felt when you killed the person I held dearest to me." He clicked off the safety, staring solemnly at Jim.

Moriarty's hand clenched into a fist. He had to do something! He couldn't just stand around and watch while Sebastian was murdered right before his eyes! But there was nothing he could do. There was a gun pressed against his neck and one false move would get both him and Sebastian killed . . .

"No," Jim murmured, shaking his head.

Sebastian looked up at his employer. "Save me," he mumbled as he squeezed his eyes shut. Wesley grinned and pulled the trigger. There was a loud bang and then utter silence.

Sebastian Moran lay on his side, blood pooling around him.

"NO!" Jim cried out, rushing towards Sebastian without even giving a second thought about the woman shooting him. "No, no, NO!" He knelt down beside his employee, feeling waves of strange emotion crashing over him. He could feel tears wanting to push into his eyes and he didn't even understand why. He just stared down at Sebastian's lifeless body.

"'Save me'," Wesley giggled, mocking Moran. "How cute."

Moriarty stood up slowly, his gaze turning to glare at Wesley. His anger and grief built up, level by level, rapidly. He suddenly lashed out at the other man, punching him in the face, kicking him in the stomach, slamming him against the wall. Jim closed his hands tightly around Wesley's neck, blocking all flow to his lungs, trapping everything inside his body.

Another shot was fired and a bullet entered Moriarty's arm. Wesley attempted to push him off as the woman stepped forward, her fired weapon still pointed. "Let's go, Wesley," the woman barked.

Jim almost cried out when the bullet hit him, but the adrenaline and anger inside of him helped him to ignore the pain. He instead continued to strangle Wesley.

Wesley's eyes began to roll back into his head. The woman shoved Moriarty aside with her foot, glaring, and her finger tight around the trigger. Jim glared back, clutching his arm where the bullet hit. His breathing was shaky and his eyes had begun to water. "I will make you pay!" he shrieked at his nemesis.

"Shall I kill him, sir?" the woman asked calmly as Wesley got to his feet. He gave a raspy cough and grinned, shaking his head.

"Let him suffer in life a little more," he whispered weakly. She nodded and they took off, leaving the warehouse to be silent once again.

Moriarty sat alone on the cold concrete floor, hunched over. He held his head in his hands as all the pain and grieving washed over him. He tried his best not to cry but it was suffocating, all this emotion that he had thought he'd finally locked away and trapped behind a wall. A couple tears trickled down his face but he managed to hold the dam back.

A couple minutes later he forced himself to crawl over to Sebastian's body. He untied his employee's bonds around his wrists and legs, removed the weight, and just stared. His eyes were blurred with tears, and it may have been the blurry vision, but it appeared as though the gunshot wound wasn't actually on his neck, but rather more on the back. Something small and cylindrical also slipped from Moran's lips.

Jim blinked away the tears and inspected the body further. He looked at the gunshot wound and found that the wound, in fact, wasn't lethal. He immediately checked Sebastian's pulse and found that there wasn't one, which only made his heart sink again. Disheartened, he picked up the cylindrical object, which he found to be a small pill.

Suddenly Sebastian's words echoed. _"Save me . . ."_

Moriarty's eyebrows furrowed. What had he meant by that? Surely he knew that there was no way that Jim could've saved him, so what had he meant? And what was with the pill . . .

His eyes widened when he realized. "Ooh, you're clever," he muttered with a smile growing. The pill. This pill stops one heart. The wound wasn't lethal. There was _hope._

Jim carefully rolled Sebastian onto his back and began to perform CPR. "This had better work, you bloody idiot." He bent down and blew air into Sebastian's body, then pumping on his chest once more.

A moment later, Moran's eyes opened and he took in a sudden breath. His eyes found Jim and he gave a tired smile. "I knew you'd figure it out . . ."

Jim sighed with relief and smiled back, which turned into a small chuckle.

Sebastian sat up, suppressing a pained moan. He looked at his charge and his expression turned to surprised concern. "Have you been crying?"

Jim quickly rubbed his eyes and looked away, annoyed. "No," he muttered. "Hay fever."

Moran smiled and took Jim's hand. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"

The psychopath looked down at their hands, smiling. "I did hope . . ." He chuckled slightly again.

"I'm glad you saved me. I would've hated staying dead."

"Me too."

Sebastian stared into Jim's eyes for a moment, thoughts racing. Everything that had happened in their short time of knowing each other. From the first time they met to now, when Jim had save him. Without thinking, his body leant forward and pressed his lips against Jim's.

Moriarty was slightly shocked at the sudden sentimental contact. He blinked in disbelief. Was Sebastian Moran kissing him?

The sniper pulled away just as suddenly, his cheeks burning. "Uh, I . . . um . . ." He gulped and looked away, utterly shocked at what he just did.

Jim held Sebastian's chin and turned his head back to face him. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked, slightly confused as though he was remembering the thought of their lips together. Then, he smiled and slowly pressed their lips together again. Moran's eyes widened in surprise but he relaxed and just enjoyed it. Jim finally pulled away again, feeling quiet awkward. "Uh . . ."

Sebastian took Jim's other hand, smirking. "I thought sentimental wasn't your area?"

He shrugged and smiled back. "It isn't . . . not really . . ."

"Well, I think you do a fabulous job." He thought for a moment. "Considering."

"Considering?"

"That you're a violent psychopath." He kissed Jim's cheek. "That you're my violent psychopath."

Moriarty laughed. "Oh, I'm yours now, am I?"

"Yes. And anyone who tries to make you theirs will receive a bullet in their brain."

"I think I like this side of you." Jim smirked. "Very violent."

"It just gets shadowed by your insanity."

"Thank you." He chuckled.

"Now," Sebastian whispered. "Shall we go murder Wesley?"

* * *

**Thus concludes my MorMor fan fiction! Rather long, isn't it? Well, I enjoyed it (both roleplaying and writing it up) and I hope you did too. Please leave a review as it is very much appreciated!**


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